


The Ballad of Peter Pettigrew

by MykEsprit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A Ballad, Gen, Marauders' Era, The Marauders Seventh Year Competition, quills and parchment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 14:43:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15121664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MykEsprit/pseuds/MykEsprit
Summary: The first slippery step of Peter's path towards the dark. A ballad.





	The Ballad of Peter Pettigrew

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [themaraudersseventhyear](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/themaraudersseventhyear) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> How does a boy, who was bound by a friendship so close he broke the law to support one of them, become the villain in his own story? Tell the tale of how Peter Pettigrew was lured by the dark, and took his first steps away from The Marauders.
> 
> Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are owned by JK Rowling and WB.

A Marauder was he. The fourth

Of brothers in all but name.

His kin in magic, though not might;

It mattered not to them.

 

They were family, all the same.

One House of daring and valor,

A History great and

Full of Heroes, like Dumbledore.

 

For years, they were inseparable

From autumn until June.

One, a boy in the morning light

Turned monster in full moon.

 

Another, a playful human,

Oft changed to sign of doom.

A third whose love for making mess,

Tempered by his Lily bloom.

 

And then, there’s Peter Pettigrew.

The one who always seemed

To be looked down by all.

The one who all had deemed

 

Too timid, and by far.

He cared not; since that day

The four were sorted in the Hall,

They’d seen each other through it all.

 

“I wonder what’s in store for us,”

He wondered, during break.

They lounged among the grey slick rocks

On the shore of the Black Lake.

 

“Why so wistful?” Sirius asked,

A smirk painted on his face.

“We’ve still got one long week to go

And exams yet to ace.”

 

“Leave him be. We know you’re just as

Worried as the rest of us.

You talk about it in your sleep,”

Said Remus, always keeping peace.

 

“Quite right,” quipped bespectacled James,

Leaning up against a tree.

His face was full of laughter

And his arms full of Lily.

 

“We’re all a little scared of what

The future has in store.

Rumblings and rumors beyond the gates—

Let’s take our cues from Dumbledore!”

 

Peter pursed his lips—said naught

As his mind went to that man

Whose blue eyes overlooked him

When he spoke to their clan.

 

“People missing overnight,

Most without a trace.

How can we make things better?”

Asked Lily, concern on her face.

 

Sirius grunted, “ _Please_ let’s not

Talk ‘bout the real world yet.

‘Tis the tail end of our seventh year—

The fun, let’s not forget!”

 

“All right, all right,” they all relent,

For never could they stay

Blue or down with Padfoot around

To chase the gloom away.

 

“You’ll get your chance,” Remus said.

“Tonight is a full moon.

So go and get your rests, my friends,

You’ll need your energy soon.”

 

The lunar orb lit up the sky,

Bathed all in silver glow.

The castle slept, ‘cept for Moony,

With his friends in tow.

 

Peter – so small – turned smaller still

And did his monthly job

Of getting past the violent tree

‘Fore it crushed them into blobs.

 

Once inside the Shrieking Shack,

They lived up to its name.

Growl, yap, bark, bay,

All four were all but tame.

 

Hours passed and so they played

Well into the night.

Moony, Padfoot, Prongs, and he

Gave Sandman a good fight.

 

As the night had dwindled down

And they began to tire

Something had occurred right then

That put them in a mire.

 

The winds, that night, blew strong and fierce

(So common in the Highlands),

The Willow’s wayward branches danced and

Swayed and swooshed a while, and

 

Then with a thunderous crash, a wall

Had splintered into bits!

The Willow whomped into the wall

A hole with space to fit

 

A teenaged Werewolf with such ease

That said beast slipped right out!

The three rushed quickly after him

And ran full-speed, all-out!

 

Both Padfoot and Prongs chased him down,

Pumping legs, fore and hind—

While poor little Peter, the rat,

Had fallen far behind.

 

Peter stumbled to a stop near

The dark edge of the Forest.

Beyond, the creatures of the woods

Sang a frightful chorus

 

Of howls and growls and grunts and snarls.

The notes had struck a chord,

For never had he gone without

Protection from the horde.

 

And there he froze, much too afraid

To follow his friends’ trail.

He could not move a single limb

Nor twitch his wormy tail;

 

Not when, beyond the woods, there lived

Such frightening Beings and Beasts

Would love to catch him unawares

And, from him, make a feast.

 

As he retreated, pedaling back

To safety of the Shack,

Grey robes, grey hair, grey beard flew past,

And followed his friends’ tracks.

 

Dumbledore had zoomed past him

Without a second glance.

McGonagall, not far behind

Saw him, just by chance.

 

Her green eyes had locked on his—

Was she aware of who he is?

 

She kept him in her darkened sight,

Narrowed with derision.

She sneered at his cowering form

For his cowardly decision.

 

Both disappeared into the woods

In sure and quick pursuit.

Once he could see them not, he ran

To the opposite route.

 

He sped across the open field

To reach the slumbering school,

But just before he reached the doors,

He felt a craven fool.

 

And so, instead, he veered hard left—

Found somewhere he could lie

Among the shadows of the night

And be unseen, to spy.

 

He didn’t need to wait long;

For as he settled in,

McGonagall and Dumbledore

Strode by with poor Lupin.

 

He looked to be unconscious.

Peter paused in wonder

If that was his friends’ handiwork

Or if _they_ put him under.

 

The Werewolf floated off the ground,

Behind the two adults.

Perhaps it mattered not who did—

It was the best result.

 

He turned his gaze whence they had come

To the Dark Forest’s line.

His beady eyes could not discern

His friends beyond the pines.

 

Peter hoped they weren’t discovered

During their midnight hunt.

Illegal Animagi form

Went beyond mere student stunt.

 

The _thud-thud-thud_ of the Willow

Made him turn right back

To the student and the teachers

Now going near the Shack.

 

With a wide flourish of a wand,

He floated in without delay.

They fixed the damage in the wall.

The runaway was there to stay.

 

Dumbledore stalked back to the school,

Walked with determined strides,

Expression grim and drawn and pale,

McGonagall at his side.

 

They headed towards his hiding place!

He hunkered down lower,

But once they neared Peter’s boulder,

Their pace turned much slower.

 

Their voices carried in the air,

Now still, without a breeze.

And when they strolled closer,

He heard them both with ease.

 

“A close one,” said McGonagall,

“Perhaps a bit too close.

It’s good it happened very late

While everyone’s a-doze.”

 

“It’s quite a stroke of luck,” replied

The mindful Headmaster,

“That those two creatures, dog and stag,

Had reached him much faster.”

 

McGonagall then pursed her lips.

“Oh, please don’t act a fool!

You knew who those two really were—

Know ev’rything at this school!”

 

“I _had_ suspected long ago,”

Admitted the old man.

“Though, I had thought there would be three;

Not just two of their clan.”

 

“You must mean Peter Pettigrew,”

Said she, with bitter tone.

“I thought I saw him here tonight,

Just standing all alone

 

Instead of chasing down his friend

To make sure he was fine,

That Pettigrew refused to help

To save his own behind.

 

I saw him near the forest’s edge,

Just out of danger’s reach.

He’d turned away—I’d always say

That boy’s just a damned leech!”

 

“Such strong words,” muttered Dumbledore,

“And yet, I do agree

That Peter’s not as Gryffindor

As the other three.

 

I had high hopes for him before,

Back in his first year.

I thought that with a little push

He’d fight through all his fears.

 

Alas! Despite his daring group,

He never did quite grow.

He’s spent all seven years with us,

And nothing much to show.

 

But we need all our hands on deck

For the upcoming war,

While Peter may not be the best,

He’s still a follower.”

 

“That boy couldn’t even follow

Friends when he could have helped!

I would rather not recruit him—

I just don’t trust that whelp!”

 

Their voices were now fading;

They’re much too far away.

And poor Peter, who’d been listening,

Felt sunk with such dismay.

 

He was aware his Head of House

Never truly liked him.

She’d always smile at his three friends

Then, to him, be so grim.

 

And, Dumbledore—it always seemed

LIke he was just ignored.

But now, to hear him speak of plans,

For him and his own horde—

 

Such anger grew inside his chest

It made his whiskers twitch,

For never had he felt abused

Than by that wizard and that witch!

 

A follower, they needed now?

A follower he’d be!

Oh, he’d make sure to follow them

To the fires of Hades!

 

His rodent nails dug in the ground—

His rage was at a peak!

He longed to yell and scream and shout,

But now could only squeak.

 

His creature-friends, they must have heard,

For only moments passed

When one black dog and one large stag

Had fin’lly shown at last.

 

Padfoot ran around the boulder,

With nuzzle, gave a nudge.

As Prongs, with his gentle hoof

Tried to get him to budge.

 

And, though they could not speak with words,

He knew what they would say:

_Buck up, Wormtail! How can they know_

_That we’re all family!_

 

_The four of us are not perfect;_

_We’ve all each got our faults._

_Regardless of what happens now,_

_We’ll see each other through it all._

 

And after those bolstering words,

All spoken without voice,

The two then headed to the Shack,

Thus giving him a choice.

 

Should he let them lead way again,

And he, just trail behind?

Or should he break, and forge ahead,

A path his own to find?

 

‘Cause though he was a Marauder,

He and his friends three,

He knew if he stayed on this course,

A follower he’d always be.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you! I hope you enjoyed this my first-ever poem!


End file.
